


tell me, what is the colour of love?

by jade_werla



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Miscommunication, Pining, there's betty/jughead in this but i swear this is a barchie fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jade_werla/pseuds/jade_werla
Summary: Betty’s been able to see colour almost her whole life.---An AU in which the world is grey until you find your soulmate.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	tell me, what is the colour of love?

**Author's Note:**

> this is super angsty lol
> 
> i have a second part planned but it's not done yet. hopefully it doesn't take me too long

Betty’s been able to see colour almost her whole life.

She and Archie meet on the pavement between their houses, and the moment they lock eyes the world explodes, the grey blasted away by a dizzying array of greens and reds and yellows. Though she denies it vehemently whenever it’s brought up, they both burst into tears. 

The fear claws up her throat, and not even her Mum picking her up and holding her close can stop the sickness she feels at the sudden brightness of the world. She can hear him crying behind her, and many years later his Dad will tease him about throwing up all over his jumper.

It’s incredibly rare to meet so early, but their parents work out what’s gone wrong fairly quickly. Even though her Mum’s lip curls at the mere suggestion of soulmates and his Mum looks uncomfortable, there is nothing in the world that could stop them becoming best friends. 

They learn the names of colours together, her Mum teaching them with a firm hand. Archie loves it whenever she names colours for him, often asking for the name of a colour she knows he knows. His eyes light up especially bright whenever they find blues and pinks close together.

“It’s you and me,” He tells her, a routine declaration as they pass twin bushes of flowers, blue next to pink. She doesn’t really understand it, but she takes to drowning herself in pink, relishing in his grins and blue t-shirts. 

He proposes way too early. 

Her Mum told her early on that eventually she and Archie will get married, just not any time soon. They need to do more growing, need to explore the world a little more. At the very least, her Mum insists, they have to have graduated high school. 

When his lip quivers with uncertainty in the face of her shocked silence, she tugs him to his feet. “We’ve got our whole lives for that, Arch,” She musters up the courage to give him a short peck. He flushes firetruck red, and she pretends that she’s not just as overwhelmed. “Let’s wait ‘till we’re eighteen.” 

He frowns a little, a crease in his brow that only smoothes when she makes a joke or two. 

It’s easy to hover somewhere between best friends and something more after that. 

He takes her hand all the time, swinging his arm obnoxiously and snickering at her put-on annoyance. She loves to give him hugs, if not for the comfort of holding him close then for the red that floods his cheeks when she pulls away. He professes his house is her home, and she makes sure he’s all caught up with his schoolwork, insistent that they won’t be separated. 

There’s no one who knows her the way he does. She loves him, and she knows he’s the best person in the whole world. He doesn’t do too well in an academic environment, but that doesn’t make him stupid, and even if it did, it wouldn’t stop her loving him. He’s unendingly kind, even to those she’s certain don’t deserve it. He never fails to make her laugh, and her Mum grudgingly admits that he’s really the only one who can get her out of a funk. 

He’s her soulmate. He’s as good as it got. She can’t _not_ love him. 

Eventually, Kevin grows bored of her waxing poetic about him, especially when he leaves for the summer and they spend hours on the phone, both moaning about the injustice of spending a summer apart. He insists that she tells Archie that she wants to get together now, not when they graduate, deeming her reluctance as stupid.

The first thing she notices when he knocks on her door to take her to the dance is that he grew over the summer, and has filled out a _lot._ He’s still her Archie though; awkward, well-meaning, absent-minded. He’s wearing a blue tuxedo jacket, and she beams stupidly bright when he compliments her pink dress. 

She waits until they’re dancing to say it, the words she’s been waiting so long to say bubbling out of her. “I know I said we should wait until we were eighteen, but I love you now. I don’t want to waste any more time loving you from a distance.”

Archie screws his face up, the way he always does when she says something he can’t comprehend. 

The floor falls out from under her, and even though the hall is in full, garish colour, she swears the world goes grey for a split second. It’s dark and horrible. She’s spent most of her life in colour, and just as much time certain that she and Archie were it for each other. 

“Betty, I don’t know.” His grip on her waist slackens, shoulders tensing with awkwardness. He’s trying his best to be nice, to let her down as gently as he possibly can. “I’m not good enough for you, you know I’m not. I think we’re probably just meant to be friend-soulmates. That way we don’t have to worry about losing each other.” 

She can barely breathe over the feeling of her heart smashing to pieces. Things go hazy after that, music and chatter falling away as his words loop around her brain on repeat. _Friend-soulmates?_ She bites her cheek so hard copper fills her mouth. 

He holds her hand the whole night, refuses to let go even when she shuffles off the dance floor, even when she doesn’t respond to his inane small talk. Cheryl tries to drag them to hers for the after-party but he begs off, ignoring the catcalls as he bundles her into a taxi. 

“I’m sorry Betty,” He whispers in the dark cab, hand growing clammy in hers, “I didn’t know you felt that way.” 

He isn’t lying; he’s never once been disingenuous, not to her. She’s not sure he knows how to be. 

He walks her right up to her door, hand still stubbornly clinging to hers. When they reach her porch, he pulls her into such a tight hug she’s sure her bones creak with the force of it. His breathing rattles uneasily in her ear. 

He’s afraid, she realises, clutching fistfuls of his suit-jacket. Of what, she’s not sure. She knows he hates to let people down, hates to disappoint, but he can’t help the way he feels, and it’s not his fault she’s a useless soulmate. 

He pulls back. His eyes are shining and hers are clear. “I love you.”

His hair is so red, lips so pink. She thinks, not for the first time, that the only good thing about seeing colour is him. 

“Me too.” 

When she curls up in bed, curtains drawn tightly over her window, she refuses to let loose a single tear. 

Veronica tells her, weeks later, about how she lost her soulmate when she was only ten. They only knew each other for six months before she was struck by a car and killed. V can barely finish the story before she’s sobbing, held upright only by Kevin’s grip. Because she’s selfish and terrible, the story comforts her.

At least she can still see Archie, at least he hasn’t gone somewhere she cannot follow. 

And the universe seems to be trying to rectify its mistake of landing Archie with her, because only it’s not very long after that when Jughead properly comes onto her radar for the first time ever. 

He was always Archie’s friend, the strange kid who hung around, stuffing his face with an assortment of junk food, and making strange comments about films and tv shows. She hated him for the longest time, sour at having to share Archie’s friendship. For most of middle school, she didn’t even have to pretend to like him in front of Archie because each time she called Archie’s name, he slunk away before she could get close. 

He kisses her, nothing like the quick peck she gave to Archie all those years ago. Her heart leaps into her mouth. 

It’s easy, with Jughead. He intrigues her, questions the values and morals she’s held for years. She finds herself changing, warping her persona to suit the edgy girl she thinks he probably wants. There’s no heartbreak when they fight, no tugging in her gut when he turns away from her, no sharp feeling in her throat when he keeps something from her.

She sees Archie a lot less. 

When she stops to reflect on it all, it feels uncomfortable. Even though their most awkward preteen years, she and Archie never went more than three days without talking, if only over the phone. When she had chickenpox and couldn’t play, they communicated through their windows, stopping only when her laughter at his improvised play alerted her Mum to her being out of bed. 

Now, she barely sees him once a week, and often only in passing. 

Despite the first flicker of guilt that he quickly hides away — that she always catches, that makes everything so much _worse_ — he always looks pleased to see her, still reaches out for her hand, or makes to sling his arm over her shoulders. At first, she flinches away, the idea of the heat of his skin on hers too painful to contemplate, but as Jughead takes up more and more of her life, it becomes easier to let his fingers brush over the backs of her hands again. 

“I miss you,” He says one lunchtime, when it’s just the two of them at their lunch table, eyes soft and a little sad. 

She tilts her head back to grin at him, ignoring the way her stomach clenches and the skin of her wrist ignites where he’s got a hold of her. “I’m right here.” 

The hurt in his eyes deepens. He hates it when she isn’t honest with him, hates it more when he thinks he’s the cause of her need to lie. Because she’s a terrible soulmate and an even worse friend, she pretends not to notice, accepting a peck on the lips from Jughead as he walks up, the knot in her gut tightening when Archie retreats to the other side of the table. 

The gulf between them widens. With every step she takes away from him, it becomes harder and harder to breathe. 

After they’ve been dating a month and half, Jughead tells her that he doesn’t believe in soulmates.They’re lying on a blanket, staring up at the stars. His hand is dry in hers, and he waxes poetic about how truly beautiful each different shade of grey is. 

“Do you believe in them?” 

She lets out a long breath at the question, skin prickling. “I believe you can have different kinds of soulmates,” She says finally, “Arch and I, we were just destined to be the best of friends.”

Jughead lets out a heavy sigh, like he doesn’t believe her. 

He knows that she and Archie are soulmates because elementary schools sort children by who can and cannot see colour. That, and between the ages of five and eight, she made sure anyone who would listen knew that they were destined for each other. 

“You wanted to give it a go.” His words are acidic, burning through her heavy parka and igniting her skin with shame. She doesn’t know how to cope with the knowledge that Archie told him about her confession, doesn’t know how not to be upset that maybe every secret they’ve ever had has been shared with him. Anger flashes across her briefly. Even if he doesn’t love her like that, she’s still supposed to be his most important person, isn’t she? “He rejected you, not the other way around. You can’t honestly tell me that you didn’t believe in soulmates romantically.” 

“Of course,” The words come easier now, her tongue loosened by the need to convince him. There’s distance between her and the words, but it’s easier to convince him when she can hardly hear herself speak, “I was inexperienced and stupid. Archie was all I thought about only because I was told I would end up with him no matter what I did. Now, with time, and distance and _you,”_ She lifts their joined hands punctuates the word with a kiss to the back of his, “I know that whatever I felt for him was misplaced. We’re best friends, and we always will be. But that’s all we’ll ever be.” 

He seems satisfied by her answer, body relaxing into the blanket. He points out constellation after constellation and tells her their mythology, finger tracing imaginary lines to connect the stars together. She looks up at the same sky, at the inky-blue darkness, the faint yellow hint to the stars. Even in the darkness, colour is inescapable.

For the first time since she first locked eyes with Archie, she wishes she couldn’t see it. 

When they walk into school the next day, she musters her courage and smiles at Archie first. His answering grin is bright and happy, and she thinks that maybe she can accept it now. 

Perhaps their relationship will never be perfect, and perhaps the constant hum of pain in her gut will never completely vanish, but maybe she can live with that. 

There’s no point thinking about what will happen if she cannot.


End file.
